


Timeless

by Vargras



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Silver Snow spoilers, does this qualify as a rare pair if it's m!Byleth, just give me more of these two okay, mild headcanons whoops, oh hello it's my first offering to Fire Emblem and it's indulgent as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20485388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vargras/pseuds/Vargras
Summary: Now that the war is over, Byleth has all the time in the world.And that's a problem.





	Timeless

**Author's Note:**

> Hey did you know that m!Byleth/Rhea fics are 0.042% of all the Three Houses content on AO3 at the time of this writing? I thought that was interesting.
> 
> And by that I mean I'm frantically shoveling scraps into my mouth because I'm starving for content. Anyways enjoy!

Hanneman’s funeral had been just the other day, it felt like. It had been expected for a while, what with his declining health, and the recent spate of bad weather that simply fed into an illness Manuela hadn’t been able to do anything about. All of the faculty had been in attendance, as well as students, both current and former, if they were able to make the trip. Some obviously couldn’t attend, of course, like Petra or Felix. Too busy with their own matters. Far too busy.

The conversational topic of that particular day hadn’t simply been about Hanneman and his legacy, however. It had also been about him. About Byleth. About how, after well over twenty years since the end of the war, their beloved professor hadn’t changed in the slightest, in so many ways. After all, so many of his former students had lives of their own, and most had families now. Some of the children looked no older than he did, no older than he _ had _ looked all those years ago.

It bothered him more than he cared to admit, something that had cast a painfully harsh light on the fact that… he was no longer a mortal, like so many of those he had grown to care for. That he would, inevitably, outlive them all. The faculty he had known during his own tenure at Garreg Mach. His students. Their children. Their children’s children. Their children’s children’s _ children_. 

Their own mortality was inexorable. Their deaths would come to pass some day, and there was simply nothing to be done about it.

The thought grew fuzzy, causing him to grumble… Hanneman’s funeral had been just the other day, it felt like. Or… had it been last week? Month? Time itself had all begun to meld together so freely, so _ easily, _ and he quietly made note of it being yet another thing that bothered him as of late. _ Sothis said I could see both sides of time, so why…? _

There was a sound behind him, of a distant door opening and then quietly shutting, and of footsteps approaching. He needn’t guess who it was. 

“It seems very unlike you to lock yourself away from the world like this.” 

Hands rested upon his shoulders, soft lips upon his cheek, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Were this any other time, I would ask if you perhaps meant the throngs of people wishing to speak with you. But…” She withdrew somewhat, shifting herself so as to give the impression of being more comforting than affectionate. “...I know better than that. I saw this same behavior in you once, after your father had passed, yet… this feels different. Your father's passing had been before your gift from the goddess… before your changes. Before you learned of all that you were.”

A sigh and a nod, his head dipping low. “Yes.”

“You are… struggling with yourself, then. With your immortality.”

“Yes.”

“I… I see. Perhaps, you… you could…” She fought to find the right words, unsure of what it is she should even say to the leader of Fódlan. Her jaw moved yet nothing came out, and when she finally _ did _ speak, there was an almost pained sound to it. “Have you spoken with Seteth or Flayn yet? Surely they—”

“Rhea, I’m asking _ you. _And not ‘Archbishop Rhea’, but... just Rhea.”

Thunder roared on the horizon, and the faint beginnings of rain began to hit upon the windowpane. The sound was almost enough to mask her own heavy sigh. Almost. “Then I suppose if I am to be speaking as ‘just Rhea’, I should address things as if I were speaking to ‘just Byleth’?”

“...Rhea.”

“Worry not, my dear. I’m... simply teasing a bit. I promised you so very long ago that I would gladly assist you with any changes of yours, did I not?” 

He said nothing, instead still stuck staring at the eulogy he had worked on prior to the funeral. The eulogy that had stayed upon his desk and never left it. The eulogy that had never been read in the end because he had found himself so painfully, horrifically distracted by the concepts of time, life, and death.

She frowned, worried by the silence. “Byleth, I appreciate that you value my counsel so much, but… would this not be better if Seteth or Flayn spoke to you on this? After all, I… did not deal with my own grief terribly well.”

“That’s precisely why I’m asking you.” He turned to her, their eyes catching one another amidst the dim glow of dying candlelight, and for a moment, there seemed to be a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. Of knowing that, yes, he had been through something not unlike what she had. “Neither of us have ever dealt with our emotions terribly well. I just thought that you’d know best how to help me through this, given our bond, and… everything that you’ve experienced.” 

“...I see.” A few steps to his left to grab an empty chair, and then she was seated beside him, leaning into his side as she spoke softly. “And what is it you wish for me to tell you?”

“Does it... ever go away? The pain? The... disconnect, knowing that you’ll outlive them all?” he asked, the fear in his voice nearly palpable. 

There was naught but silence, save for the steady rain that was now beginning to pour outside, and then a quiet answer of, “No. Never.”

He felt his heart sink at the response, even though he had fully expected it.

“But…” Her hand worked its way into his, squeezing firmly yet gently, and she caught sight of the tension easing in his shoulders. “Like any wound, it does heal with time. It may not be as quickly as you might like, and the scar will always be there, returning now and again like a dull, distant pain when the conditions are right. But you will overcome it. It is… admittedly something that Seteth and Flayn always handled better than myself.”

“Hence why you told me to ask them instead.”

“Yes. I certainly should not be one to turn to for matters such as this, given how poorly I handled things in the wake of my mother’s death. Outwardly, I was… fine. I helped build Fódlan into the land it would eventually become. I led militaries and the masses. But, on the inside, I bore unimaginable pain. I seethed with rage at having my family stolen from me. I was in turmoil. And… I was afraid, I think, of what the others might feel should they ever see that side of me. I felt much the same when you saw that side of me, terrified and unsure if you would still be willing to accept me after everything I had done and become.”

He hummed in thought, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Seteth and Flayn always seemed to have no trouble mingling with the staff and students at Garreg Mach. Yet you kept yourself closed off that entire time, didn’t you?”

“...Until you returned to the monastery with your father. Almost a thousand years of solitude.”

“Why?”

A simple question, one she seemed to struggle for an answer to, and then, with a hard swallow... “I felt that if I had been completely honest, everyone would have left me… and I would have been well and truly alone for the first time in my life, with nothing remaining. But you were different. You knew nothing of me. And you were… meant to be the rebirth of my mother. I could not possibly hide myself from the likes of you. Not forever.”

The thunder seemed closer now, the rain outside intensifying further, and Byleth mulled over his own thoughts as both he and Rhea sat beside one another at the desk, holding hands, seemingly lost in the moment. A brief thought crossed his mind of it being so very like something she had done with him once upon a time, though he struggled to remember — his memories immediately before and after his fall into the valley still remained muddled, perhaps from the physical trauma and the five year slumber that followed. Another memory returned to him instead. “...There was something Dorothea said to me once, after what happened in the Sealed Forest. She… worried about me. _ For _ me. Told me that it seemed as if I was floating so very high above the others after what had happened to me then, and that it felt as if I had no interest in coming back down.”

Her response had been immediate, and without any of the hesitation that previously colored her words. “And do you think Miss Arnault was correct?” 

“At the time, no. But… now?” His brow furrowed and he squeezed her hand tightly, though she made no complaints. “I’m… not sure.”

“...Time is a curious thing, once one no longer has need of it. Are you afraid of losing yourself in its depths?” 

“Somewhat. I’m mostly afraid of simply… forgetting things, as time goes on. Names, and faces, and memories. People from before and after the war. The students. _ My _ students.” His hand briefly tensed, relaxing again as he allowed himself to lean against her as she did to him. _ You’re not alone in this. Always remember that. _“I… see them in my dreams, sometimes. The ones who didn’t make it. Dimitri, Edelgard, Claude.”

Rhea had sharply inhaled upon mention of the former Emperor, shutting her eyes as she allowed the moment to pass — _ she _ had been his student once, after all. And… he always had cared greatly for his students. No matter the circumstances. “They never did find out what happened to Claude, my dear. He may very well still be alive.” 

“Rhea, it’s been over twenty years since what happened at Gronder Field. He wasn’t the type to simply _ vanish _ and never say anything _ … _ or, at least, he never seemed it.”

“...You said you see them in your dreams?”

Grateful for the guidance back to his train of thought, he continued. “Yes. We… talk, usually. As if it were simply another day at Garreg Mach. As if they don’t _ know _ that they’re gone. They ask me how I’ve been, what I’ve done, when I might see them again. Always with that same level of adoration in their voices that they always had… ‘Professor’. ‘My teacher’. ‘Teach’. They all had their own ways of calling to me, speaking with me.”

“And you miss them.”

“Yes.”

“And... you worry you may one day forget them entirely.”

His breath hitched as he answered. “...Yes.”

Her thumb brushed against the back of his palm as she seemed to mull it over, quietly humming a few notes to a melody that seemed faintly familiar. “...I remember a time like that, once, when I felt as you do now. After the death of Nemesis and the founding of the Adrestian Empire, I… found myself at an impasse. Peace had been attained, yet… my mother was gone, as was the man who had taken her from me. I knew not where to go or what to do with myself, and… I began to _ worry. _ I felt that, eventually and without anything to directly connect her life to mine, I would forget her touch, her face, her voice… and I found the thought unbearable. So it was that I brought the Sword of the Creator with me to what would eventually be Garreg Mach, and housed it in the Holy Tomb below, so that I could visit her whenever I wished.”

“So... keeping the relics and treating them as holy artifacts was—”

“A way for me to remember my mother, yes… as well as the rest of the family I had lost. The others from Zanado.”

For so long, the sacred relics had been thought of as mere weapons, passed down from inheritor to inheritor, continued gifts from the goddess — after Rhea had privately revealed what they_ truly _ were, an appeal had been made to the remaining noble houses, to allow them to be put to rest. Within a year of his ascending the throne for the United Kingdom of Fódlan, all relics which _ could _ be recovered were safely placed away within the Holy Tomb, to hopefully sleep for all of time. There would be no need for such weapons in the future they would forge together. 

The sole exception to such a decree had been the Sword of the Creator, at Rhea’s personal request. Both it and the Crest of Flames had become symbols for the new Fódlan, and… with her soul now forever bound to his, the sword was the only physical remnant of Sothis’ existence. He often left it upon the throne within the Holy Tomb, however. In a way, it felt fitting for it to reside there, though whenever he traveled for whatever reason, he always made sure to bring it along. Not because he thought he would need a weapon, but... because he thought she would appreciate the sights. He never did learn how much of the world she had managed to see before she left entirely… he hoped she enjoyed the coastlines and mountains as much as he did.

A pause, just to allow himself a moment longer to linger on the memories of the goddess who dwelled within, and then he moved to another thought. “Do you think of them often?”

“Always,” she whispered. “Not a day goes by in which I do not think fondly back to my days with them.”

“If…” His hand momentarily tensed within hers, relaxing again soon after. “If you could turn back the hands of time and get them back… would you?”

The question caused Rhea to give him a curious look, a brow quirked as she peered up at him. “...Once upon a time, I would have wished for such a thing. I would have loved nothing more than to have my mother back, and to be back amongst the rest of my kind in Zanado. To live as if the tragedy at the Red Canyon had never occured. But, just as I told you all those years ago within the Goddess Tower, that is… no longer my wish. My only desire now is to spend the rest of my days at your side, however long that may be.”

_ However long that may be… _ She had made it sound as if they both only had so many years with one another, but he knew that wasn’t the case — they _ both _ knew. They would both live on eternally, forever guiding Fódlan towards a better, brighter future… together. He frowned a bit, a question constantly nagging at him from the depths of his mind. “Are you sure you won’t get tired of me?”

“Absolutely. Twenty-three years of marriage, and seeing your smile is still the best part of any day.”

“Twenty-four, Rhea.”

She made a soft sound in surprise, suddenly that much more aware of her ring pressed against his. “Ah, so it is. And here you are, worrying over a failing memory.” 

“Not as if I can forget our wedding anniversary any time soon.” The mere _ thought _ meant that Byleth was now struggling to suppress a grin, though he knew _ quite _ well that his companion would never mind at all. “Seteth nearly threw a _ fit _ when he found out…”

“I feel as if he long suspected, but was never sure, and so he never acted upon it. _ Flayn, _ however—”

“Flayn was calling me ‘uncle’ before the day was over. She _ still _ tries to call me uncle.”

“Hm.” Her head turned, hair shifting just enough for her ears to slip through, and her hand pulled away from his if only to place it upon his cheek. “Truth be told, you _ do _ rather look the part.”

“...Rhea.”

_ “Especially…” _she nearly sang, her voice taking on a teasing tone as her hand moved to tuck a bit of hair behind his ear. “...with these.”

Rhea’s actions had revealed that, contrary to what all of his students had thought not terribly long ago, he _ had _ indeed changed over the many years since the end of the war. Hidden beneath the bleached green strands of hair, _ very _ purposely kept from the rest of the world, had been something that was nearly unmistakable — Byleth’s ears were faintly pointed. Not nearly to the same degree as her, or Seteth, or Flayn, but… there was still no denying it, and his face had flushed in response. 

“I do wish you didn’t go to such efforts to hide them, my dear,” she lamented.

Byleth bit his lip, eyes shifting elsewhere, still futilely trying to fight his own embarrassment over the act. They were _ married. _ They had done so much together, yet she _ still _ could leave him a blushing mess. His reasoning quickly bubbled up, something, _ anything _ at all to try and distract himself. “I do it for the same reason as you.”

“Oh, but of course. Concealing them from the general populace is very much a necessary thing, until such a time that you decide otherwise. Seteth, Flayn, and I all trust in your judgment on such a matter.” Both hands moved to rest upon his cheeks, and she leaned towards him, placing her forehead against his. A soft sigh slipped out of her, and a smile wasn’t far behind. “It… makes me so very happy to know how alike we are now, you and I.”

“Like at the Goddess Tower. Up until that point, I’d never seen you look so pleased.”

She nodded. “It was… admittedly quite selfish of me, but I felt that if we weren’t quite so different, you would be more accepting of me. Particularly after you learned of my… _ other _ form, and… all that I had done.”

“...You were afraid I’d think of you as a monster.”

“A rather succinct way of putting it, but yes, I was always afraid of that. It’s why I lived a life of solitude for so long. But… something about the idea of _ you_, of all people, being afraid of me was… terribly painful. And so, to see you change in such ways after your blessing from the goddess was… well, I was _ delighted.” _

“And now here we are.”

“Here we are…” she echoed quietly. “You would have fit in quite well with the other Nabateans.”

The word prodded at something deep within the recesses of his mind, of something he was only dimly aware of. He knew those memories were not his own, yet… they felt like it, like they always _ had _ been his. “You never did speak much of them.”

“No? Hm. There isn’t much to speak of, but perhaps I can tell you another time. We could invite Cichol over for some tea, and he could help as well, if you desire it.”

“That would be… nice.” _ Cichol. Cichol is Seteth. Seteth is Cichol. _ He knew this. He _ had _ known this. The connection was repeated a few more times in his head, to try and drive it in — the name felt simultaneously foreign yet familiar, another memory that was yet wasn’t. It was… difficult to explain. He still hadn’t brought it up with Rhea. He knew he should. A quiet yawn to his side diverted his attention elsewhere, causing him to gaze down at his companion. “Tired?”

“Always. My stamina is… unfortunately not what it once was. Not after what happened at Shambhala, or Garreg Mach following that. It may take me a few centuries still to fully recover… assuming, of course, that such a thing is possible.” 

“I’ll take care of you, no matter what,” he said, parting a bit of her hair to gently kiss her forehead. 

It was Rhea’s turn to be embarrassed, her cheeks turning red as she shut her eyes and sighed. “I know you will. There is still _ so much more _ to be done if we wish to match the stars in the night sky… ah, but listen to me, pulling us so very far away from the subject at hand. This was meant to be about _ you. _ Rest assured, I will personally see to it that you do not lose yourself in the many years that await us. I have… been down that path before, and I could not bear to see you stumble through it, yet I know it will never come to that. You need only do as you have always done, and as both Seteth and Flayn have done. Immerse yourself in the world around you. Walk amongst the people you watch over. Engrave the memory of them into yourself. _ Be _ human… after all, is that not what you are at heart?”

A faint smirk began to spread across his face. “I thought I was a god at heart?”

She allowed herself the rare indulgence of a laugh, doing little to hide the encroaching smile — it wasn’t as if they were in public. She was no longer the Archbishop here. She was... simply Rhea. “Ahh, your father’s demeanor reveals itself! Your mood must be improving, if you’re willing to joke around me.”

“It was certainly helped by the advice given to me by someone.”

“Mm. I think perhaps you only wished to spend time with your spouse.”

“And what if I did?” he asked.

Another quiet laugh slipped from her, as she nuzzled up against his neck somewhat. “Then you need only ask. I will happily make time in my day for you.”

“An important meeting between the King of Fódlan and the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros?”

“...Something of the sort, yes.” Rhea let loose another yawn, her body relaxing as she leaned a little more insistently against him. She certainly took after her mother in times such as this. “Byleth… if you would be so kind?”

They had been with one another long enough by now that he knew exactly what it was she wished for, as it had become something of a habit for the both of them, starting with her recovery after that final battle at Garreg Mach, and ending… never. He stood and stepped away from the desk, and Rhea’s eyes were solely upon him for the entirety of it, her smile never fading as she watched him expectantly. Strong arms wrapped around her form and gently lifted her, and she soon took the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, breathing deep of him as he carried her to bed.

She mumbled something against him, only moving to make herself known when he gave her a curious look that could easily be seen out of the corner of her eye. “...You were in the greenhouse today.”

Byleth gave a quiet hum, as he tried to recount what it was he had even done earlier in the day. “I was, yes. Marianne wrote to me not long ago, asking for some herbs she hasn’t been able to find around her in Gaspard, so I’ve been doing what I can to help.”

“I see.” A pause for the briefest of moments, and then, “...Read me a story?”

“Promise not to interrupt this one?” he asked, almost accusingly — despite the difficulties he might have been having with some aspects of his memory as of late, the things Rhea did were certainly _ not _ one of them, and he could recall well enough all the times in which she stopped him mid-sentence to correct something he had just said. Stories, he decided, lost a good amount of their impact when you were telling them to someone who had _ been there. _ “The last time I tried to read ‘Loog and the Maiden of Wind’ to you, I couldn’t even finish it.”

“They _ do _ make their fair share of embellishments, do they not? Even so… what if you were to read your story to me?”

“My… story?” He paused the moment he laid her down upon the bed, and suddenly froze as the recognition hit — his story. The one he’s been working on for years now, ever since the war ended and he found himself feeling surprisingly restless one day at some point some time ago. He remembers bringing up the topic to Seteth and receiving some writing advice. He’d never written anything before, after all. But Seteth had changed, Seteth was patient and kind, Seteth was _ delighted _ to share in his hobby with someone else and to review his drafts whenever asked. And… Seteth had probably mentioned it to Rhea off-handedly. “It’s… still a work in progress.”

“All things are, at one point or another. I would still love for you to read to me, if you are fine with such a thing.”

“Well, in that case…” Byleth cleared his throat and readied himself. The draft itself was unnecessary. He was intimately familiar with each and every word he had ever written, and with the story itself… for he had lived through it. There was no mistaking any of this, nor would it ever be lost to him. No, this was now a fundamental part of himself, one that still directly shaped Fódlan’s future, so that it could never happen again. “The title isn’t final, but… this is the story of the three houses.”

Rhea beamed up at him, making herself comfortable. She knew this tale as well, but that was fine. 

After all, they had all the time in the world.


End file.
